The Mask of Zorro
by The Great Wizard Qui Quae Quod
Summary: The sight of Zorro, with his fantastic sword work and dressed in suave black, is a familiar one for the people of California. But where did he learn to fight, and what's up with the mask?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Comes after S. Morgenstern's "Princess Bride" Cookies for anyone that has read the entire book. (This is long after cookies.) Also based off of the Zorro stories in general. Honorable mention to Isabel Allende.

**General Disclaimer of Everything:** I own nothing. Not even the cookies.

* * *

The Dread Pirate Roberts, a man dressed head to toe in black, looked upon his latest conquest. A rich Spanish merchant ship wallowed in the water. Usually when ships saw the flag of the Dread Pirate Roberts, they immediately surrendered their wealth, rather than be captured. It was one of the benefits of the reputation. However, said reputation meant that he must give no quarter whenever he was forced to capture one. Like the Santa Anna. She must have been carrying a precious cargo indeed to put up such a fight. Or else her captain was a man of great courage and dignity. He would have to deal with the surviving men, and find a way to get rid of the ship. (This was before e-bay.) The Dread Pirate Roberts sighed.

A few of the Spaniards were still in resistance but the fighting was quickly coming to a close. His men looted the ship, moving the precious silks, gold, and provisions into their own hold.

"We are finished here, Sir." His first mate told him respectfully.

"How many men did we lose?"

"Two, sir. Harold and Richard."

"Did any survive our initial attack, Joshua?"

"Only three of them. You'll want to look to them personally, Sir?" Roberts nodded an affirmative. It was a long held tradition for the captain to… take care of… any survivors. After all, the Dread Pirate Roberts never took prisoners.

"Bring them to the deck," Roberts replied. Joshua turned to relay the order, "Oh, and Joshua." The first mate paused.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Burn down that ship."

Roberts paced the deck, considering the men on their knees before him. Two of them were rough sailors. The third stood out. It might have been his clothing, of a finer quality than any sailor could afford, despite the wear. It might have been the boy's age, roughly sixteen, easily a decade younger than his fellows. It might have been his stance, his expression. Where the sailors lacked spirit, he was full of anger and defiance. Or, it might have been a chain, hidden in the folds of his tunic. His sword drawn, Roberts flipped it back and forth between his hands. It was terribly dishonorable, this killing business. And in cold blood. It reminded him of a job he had once been hired for. Roberts carefully weighed the two situations, comparing them. He made up his mind. He hoped that one of these men could fence. Really fence. (This was before the Olympic games. Fencing was considered a deadly art.)

"Joshua," Roberts called. His first mate was already present, having already anticipated his Captain's decision.

"I will give you the chance," Roberts told the kneeling men, "To live or to die with honor. Duel with me." The sailors did not look very hopeful.

"How very cruel," The third man spoke with a slight Californian accent. Roberts raised one eyebrow. The boy took this as permission to continue. "We are men of action, sir. Lies do not become us. The Dread Pirate Roberts is as renowned for his sword work as he is for his cold heart. And even if a man were able to beat you fairly, he would then have to face the fury of your crew."

"I promise that, should you satisfy me, you will walk away. No vengeance. No retaliation."

"That's very comforting." The boy replied sarcastically. Roberts couldn't blame him. The ship was named "The Revenge" after all.

"I could give you my word as a Spaniard."

The young man snorted. "I've known too many Spaniards." His shipmates squirmed uncomfortably.

Roberts grew quiet and serious. "I swear on the soul of Domingo Montoya," he said passionately. His eyes were bright.

The young man looked at him for a long moment. "I do not know Domingo Montoya, but I find I must believe you," He finally replied. Roberts motioned to his first mate. He cut the boy's bonds and helped him to his feet. Joshua offered him his sword with a flourish. The boy hesitated.

"Aznaro Castillo is wounded, and Sebastian Delmar, he's a navigator, he is untutored in the ways of the sword. Would you allow me to stand as their proxy?"

It was Robert's turn to pause. The young man watched him with trepidation.

"What's your name, boy?" Roberts asked.

"Diego de la Vega, son of Don Alejandro." He replied, almost defiantly. (This was after defiance.)

"So be it, Diego de la Vega. If you win their lives are yours, but if you die, they die with you." The Spanish sailors sighed in relief. Diego took the proffered sword.

"Begin," Roberts said, raising the blade in his left hand.

The boy, Diego, immediately began the Agrippa defense, which Roberts thought was sound considering the slippery deck. Naturally, he countered with Capo Ferro. Diego was startled, but he defended well, quickly changing his style to counter. They broke apart for a moment and circled. Assessing one another. The crew leaned in eagerly, watching the fight and placing bets on the outcome. None were in Diego's favor.

Roberts attacked again, slashing at his opponent's chest. Diego sidestepped, avoiding the blow. He watched Roberts intently, trying to find a flaw in his footwork, an opening in his defense, but the man's sword work was flawless. Diego was a master of the blade; Roberts was even better. They parried back and forth for a few, tense minutes. Then Roberts whipped his sword up, in a vertical maneuver. Diego blocked it poorly, leaving his ribs exposed. Roberts frowned, as if disappointed, and backed off. That was when Diego realized that Roberts was playing with him. Furious, he initiated the attack with a flurry of blows, managing to scratch Roberts on the arm. The crew laughed and someone let out a low whistle. Roberts regarded the shallow slice with amusement. Then he switched his sword to his right hand.

"…salve, Maria. Llena eres de gracia, El Señor es contigo …" Sebastian clutched his Rosary tightly.

Diego had hoped to gain an advantage by wounding the pirate's dominate arm. However, Robert's attacks came even quicker now. There was more surety in the aim, more force behind the blows. Diego found himself falling behind, despite the fact that the pirate was still holding back. Two more strikes and a parry. Then Roberts masterfully knocked the sword from his hand. The despair was overwhelming. Diego had failed. They were all going to die.

"…y pecados, libranos del fuego del infierno, y lleva al cielo… " there was now a desperate tone to Sebastian's muttered prayers.

The pirate's sword rested against Diego's throat, right next to the silver chain. His face was hard. Diego squared his shoulders. There were no pleas. No more bargaining. He looked death in the eye, determined to meet it like a man.

"You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you. It would be a shame to end talent as great as yours." Diego's confusion was apparent.

"But the Dread Pirate Roberts takes no prisoners. If I make an exception in your case, news will get out that I have gone soft and that will mark the beginning of my downfall. Once they stop fearing you, piracy becomes nothing but work, work, work all the time. You really leave me no option."

Diego tried to reply, because the pirate seemed to be waiting for one, but his throat was dry. "I understand," he finally managed. The Dread Pirate Roberts gave him a penetrating look.

"I don't want to kill you, yet I cannot take prisoners," Roberts deliberated, "So I will just have to make the three of you into members of my crew." Diego, Sebastian, and Aznaro, shared incredulous glances. Shock rendering them speechless.

The crew in question laughed. They considered the whole spectacle to be a good lark. The next month would be filled with mocking, joking, and general good-natured teasing. A good quarter of Robert's crew had been hired on in a similar fashion and they would never forget it. Of course, the crew would also be covertly watching their new members. Any with ill will towards their captain would quietly disappear during the night.

"Come to my cabin, Diego de la Vega," Roberts said, "We must now discuss your fate." Diego took the offered hand and was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. "You too," he added, beckoning to the kneeling Aznaro and Sebastian. Roberts turned towards his cabin, and indicated men followed. Roberts frowned as they passed a gangly young man, in his early twenty's with a red kerchief about his neck and yellow stains on his hands.

"Merlin," Roberts snapped ,"Stop gawking and do your job. Run down and tell Yates that I want this man, Castillo, examined. We'll be in my cabin." Merlin sketched a salute and bolted. Roberts muttered something about insubordinate physician's assistants spending too much time in taverns.


	2. Chapter 2

The captain's cabin was much humbler than Diego thought it would be. There was a desk, and a solitary chair, which had been given to Aznaro when his wounded leg had given out. Maps covered the walls. All the normal ones were there of course, the map of the world, the waters of the Atlantic, the African coast, but there were other, stranger ones too. Places called Florin, Atlantis, The Roof of the World, The Lone Islands, and the Cliffs of Insanity. The last one bearing the warning; Eel infested waters. A small bed sat in the corner, a weapon's rack next to it. A wine rack placed next to the desk. It was to this wine rack that Roberts first went, pouring everyone a drink and giving Yates a chance to examine Aznaro's leg. The physician declaired the wound as minor before cleaning and bandaging it.

"You will serve on this ship for three years." Roberts told them, not wasting time with pleasentries. "At the end of that time you will be given your pay. For Vega and Castillo, the sailor's wage. You will be in the charge of my third, McKinnly, and you will report to him. Delmar, as a navigator I am prepaired to offer you one silver flourin a month. Our navigator Leon is getting restless and looking to retire. If you do your duty by us you shall have his position within the year. At the end of your three years, you may go your own way or you may choose to hire on again. If you do leave, you will make no mention of your time on the Revenge. Not for any reason. Do you hear me? If you tarnish our reputation in any way, we will find you. We will kill your families, destroy everything you hold dear, and leave you behind to wallow in your ruin."

And the sailors believed him, because he was the Dread Pirate Roberts.

"That being said, you have the evening to adjust. Your duties will begin tomorrow." The three men, knowing a dismissal when they heard one, set their glasses on the desk and proceded to leave.

"One moment, Vega." The captain said. Diego turned back warily. His friends exchanged curious looks and steped outside, closing the door behind them.

"You put up a good fight today." Roberts said. Diego blinked. This wasn't what he had expected the enigmatic captain to say.

"And you as well, sir." He reciprocated.

"You have great courage, taking me on like that. You could have left those men to their own fortunes, but instead you risked my wrath. You fought with dignity. Not many men would have had the nobility to stand for _justice_." Roberts stressed the last word.

"My grandmother well taught me the virtues of Okahue. I only hope that I may live up to her example." Ah, yes. Indian roots. Roberts could now tell, from the shape of his eyes, from the slope of his forhead, that this nobleman's son was not purely of Spanish descent.

"May I ask, where did you learn to fence?" Roberts asked. "I have only met three men of your caliber in my lifetime."

"I learned from a swords master in Los Angeles," Diego told him.

"No, no, no," Roberts said, "There are no swords masters in California, at least none that are truly great." He was quiet for a moment, deep in thought.

"Let me see your trinket, boy." He finally said.

"My trinket? I haven't got any-"

"That chain around your neck, Vega. I'm not blind." He held out his hand expectantly. Diego hesitated and Roberts raised his eyebrows.

"I'll let you have it back when I'm done," He told Diego, feeling highly amused. Diego lifted the chain from around his neck and carefully placed it on the Captain's palm. Roberts examined it breafly. Then he snorted.

"Getting a bit above themselves, now aren't they." He muttered, "Making it out of gold."

"What?" Asked Diego. Roberts looked him in the eye. Diego felt as if he were being weighed, measured against something in the pirate's mind. He wondered what would happen if he were found wanting?

"I'm taking a chance with you Diego de la Vega," Roberts declaired, "But you have some of the best referances; I think I can trust you."

"And what have I done to earn the trust of a pirate?" Diego asked. Roberts lifted the golden medallion, showing it's symbol to him.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"This is the personal crest of Domingo Montoya. He was the greatest swords smith in all of España."

"No, it's not." Diego interrupted, "It's a symbol of freedom against tyranny and-" Diego stopped, horrified. Roberts laughed.

"He would have liked for people to see it that way," Roberts admitted, tossing it back. He pulled a chain from around his own neck. On the signet ring, the exact same crest was etched.

"I knew him. Domingo was a good man. A loving father. One day, a six fingered man came to him to request a special sword. My father agreed. He poured all of his love and knowledge into this sword." Inigo's hand came to rest on top of the hilt of his magnificent sixfingered sword. "When the sixfingered man came again, he refused to pay, offering instead one tenth of his original price. My father would not take it, so he killed him. I loved my father, so I challenged the six fingered man to a duel. I was eight at the time. He gave me this. And this." Roberts drew a long finger over the scars on his face. Diego listened with wide eyes. "So I swore vengeance, and I studied sword work everywhere with any master that would take me. Eventually I reached the point where I could learn no more. Still I could not find the six fingered man." The captain's eyes held a far off look. As if he were no longer seeing the man before him.

"I was back in Spain at the time. This was before I took up piracy. I was at a tavern when I ran into three brothers. They had just witnessed the death of their father, the rape of their sister. The fools would have gotten themselves killed, so I offered them a hand. Who was I to deny the burning need for vengeance? After them, there were more. There were always more." Roberts shook his head. "After awhile they started following me around. A couple of them were actually decient with a sword. I trained a few more. Then they got this silly idea that we were a secret society, and they gave each other code names. They called me 'La Venganza'. A name can have many shades of meaning, but I think this one was obvious."

"Revenge."

"And what have they dubbed you with, Vega?"

Diego hesitated, "They call me Zorro."

"The fox, you must be very clever."

"You were the founder of La Justicia," Diego de la Vega said wonderingly.

"Not intentionally."

"Your name is not Roberts, is it." There was a heavy silence.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Your name is not Roberts, is it."_

"No, it's not." The pirate told him. He leaned casually against his desk. "It is Inigo. The Dread Pirate Roberts was a title handed to me by the previous Captain, the man in black, when he retired but he was not Roberts either. His name is Westly. He's currently living by the Cliffs of Insanity with his lovely wife Buttercup. Westly got it from his captian, Ryan, who inherited it from a man named Cummerbund. I am the sixth since the actual Dread Pirate Roberts to Captain the Revenge under his flag."

"That's why you wear the mask then? To hide your true identity?"

"Oh, no, it's just they're terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Diego asked. He felt horribly confused.

"Partly because you are an honorable man. I think you are trustworthy. You would not still be standing otherwise." Diego felt the scratch on his neck, where the magnificent sixfingered sword had rested. "And partly because no one joins La Justicia; at least not without a reason. No one chooses the path of revenge. It just grabs you, burning and driving you until you find justice. I need to know. Are you able to place your vendetta on hold for three years?"

Diego's hands flew to his side, where he normally kept his sword. His fingers found it still missing. He looked up at the pirate nervously. Inigo leaned back. His shoulders were relaxed. There was no tension in his face, only mild curiosity. The captain met his fearful gaze with one of calm patience. This wasn't a threat.

"I, I…. For three years? I came to Europe so that I could learn. So that I won't fail again. We were headed to France."

"I can't just let you go," Inigo told him kindly, "but I can offer you the best training that Europe has to offer. You are a master with the sword. I will make you a wizard. Anything you need to learn, I can find someone to teach. I'll even give you a mask when you leave. I know its a lot to ask, but I can't have you sneaking off while we are at port. The results would be…. unfortunate."

Diego considered his options. He knew that many swordsmen would kill for a chance to study under a true wizard. He had intended to be abroad for the next couple of years anyways. And he didn't want to know how unfortunate the results would be if he did try to jump ship. Even if it wasn't his real name, Inigo was still the Dread Pirate Roberts.

"A mask, you said?"

* * *

Three years to the day of his employment, Diego de la Vega stepped off of the Revenge for the last time. The sunlight was bright. The Californian air was refreshing. Palm trees swayed in a slight wind. It hit him, just how much he had missed the land of his childhood. But as he wandered through the Los Angela's port, he saw a group of men beating a woman. They were well dressed, the overseers and the sons of plantation owners. She was a Mexican. Her cries for help went unheeded. The rich were too cold, the poor too frightened. She needed help. She needed La Justica. He felt his legs move of their own violation. And even as Diego ran towards the scene, he pulled a scrap of black silk out from his vest.

* * *

**Author's note:** The funny thing about fanfiction is that the stories never quite go how you planned. I had this whole epic, elaborate plot in my head. Diego was going to hate Inigo, but Inigo was going to slowly win him over, and there was an escapade with the man in black. Instead it turned into this. After I wrote that scene with the sword fight the rest of it somehow naturally fell into place in my head, and I couldn't not write it. Oh well, here we are. I hope you enjoyed it anyways.


End file.
